The New King Of Wonderland
by The Alien of Pluto
Summary: Long live the King, now that the Queen of Hearts has died a most ironic death. S02E09 AU
1. The New King of Wonderland

_'The Queen of Hearts, she had a crown,_

 _She snagged it from the King one day;_

 _She spilled his blood upon the ground,_

 _So, Hatter stole her band away!'_

* * *

"Get down from there, you imbecile!"

"No!"

She flings a spell at him, but it goes awry when he squeezes the heart in his hand. The Queen gasps around the pressure in her chest.

"Ah-ah! No magic," he reminds her, wagging a finger at her.

The Queen seethes, but there's not much else she can do, not while he has her heart. If he were a proper magician, rather than some half-wit sensitive, he'd have taken control by now; but the worst he's done is give her a bit of heartburn with some careful, teasing pinches. But it's this that brought them to their standstill.

He holds her life-force, her essence, in his palm: she wants it back. She called her cards, but he stroked her beating heart with a gentle finger and she called them off. One good squeeze and she would be dead as dust.

She can't kill him, he couldn't control her. Stalemate.

But not really. She's the Queen of Hearts. No one bests her.

"What do you want?" she asks him, eyes narrowing as she stares up at him.

He grins down at her, swinging his legs where they hang over the rafter, seeming for all the worlds like a child on a wagon on the way to market. A child with a stolen purse in his hand.

"What do I want?" he repeats. "You know what I want."

The Queen keeps her eyes on him, decades of practice helping her not to spoil the surprise, as her not-so-little pet sneaks up behind him.

"Do enlighten me," she says.

Behind him, it stalks up on half-invisible feet, steps as light as air, its dark fur blending into the shadows and its eyes the only thing truly clear as they glow in the dark of the roof.

"I want to go home," he says, "I want you dead."

The Queen scoffs. "If you had it in you to kill, dear, you would have done it by now. Come down, and I might let them sew your head back on. Eventually."

The Cat looms over him now, twice as large as a man taller than the heart-thief, saliva gathering in its extensive mouth as it prepares to pounce. It only eats when she lets it, after all, and she hasn't felt very generous in a long time. Personally, she thinks the boy would be too stringy, but the Cat can't afford to be picky. Not while _she_ has _its_ heart.

"Devour him," she murmurs.

Blue lips stretch back as its jaw opens wide, and the Queen grins at her victory. But the slavering Cat tips her hand – a dollop of drool lands on the thief's padded shoulder, and he twists, gaping at the enormous teeth so close to his head. The Cat's jaw snaps closed, but the thief has pushed off his perch. The Queen's eyes widen with surprised rage.

Her monster's teeth lock around leather coat tails, suspend the thief in midair for a moment, before he shrugs out of his jacket and plummets to the bed – _her_ bed, with the rich red covers and thick mattress. He lands hard enough to leave dusty boot prints, then gets sprung off and hits the tile floor awkwardly enough to fall on his face.

The Queen would have laughed, or at least used this disadvantage to incinerate him. But he's landed on his arm, on her heart, and she doubles over, gasping for air, with heartbeats throbbing in her ears.

The Cat follows nimbly after him, slinking off the network of wooden beams with admirable grace and tiptoeing closer to its prey.

The thief recovers quickly, rolling off his arm and onto his back and holding the heart up for the Queen to see. He bends his head back to look upside down at her even as the Cat steps one paw onto his chest, pinning him down.

"Tick-tock, it's 3 o'clock."

And he squeezes his hand. Purple light gushes out between his fingers; the heart tries desperately to beat around the vise as the Queen struggles to breath around the same. But the glow grows dimmer, fading, as the Cat splays its fangs again, and the thief bares his teeth right back. The Queen collapses to the floor, refusing to make a sound; and the thief's hand spasms, the heart crumbles, and all he's left holding is dust.

The Queen is dead, her face twisted with the agony she'd inflicted on so many others, her eyes wide with disbelief.

The Cat stops, inches from the thief's throat. _She's_ dead; it's not in her control anymore, but it's still starving. It fades as he watches, and then he's alone in the room with a hollow body and a handful of ashes.

He smiles, victorious. Then he rolls over, wincing at the paw print aching on his ribcage and the twisting fall stinging in his legs, and looks at the dead woman sprawled on the cold tile of her bedroom in the palace that she stole.

He feels only relief as he crawls over to her and rips off her veil with his free hand. He feels something else entirely as he struggles to his feet, veil and ashes in his grip, and hears the pounding of racing guards come too late to the rescue. It isn't worry. It's glee.

His grin is achingly wide as they burst through the door, spears and war axes at the ready, blocky helmets swiveling as they try to locate the trouble –and freeze, as they see the Queen lying dead.

The cards hesitate. The thief shakes thin, red fabric off the crown, and lifts the ashes. He tips his head back and trickles the glittering dust into his mouth, shivers as lingering magic floods his bones.

"Move!"

A shout, accompanied by the jangle of armour. It's the stranger, he sees, when his hand is empty and he lets his head down, pushing his way past the stunned guards. The man stares at the Queen for a moment, before he turns raised eyebrows on her killer and says, "I'm impressed."

The thief flashes him his teeth, daintily sets the stolen crown on his head.

"Long live the King," he answers, giddiness bleeding through and shaking his voice with laughter.

"Indeed," Hook says, taking one step outside the wall of guards and into so-far neutral territory. "Happy coronation day. But you just stole one quarter of Wonderland. What do you plan to do now?"

The smile falls. "Now I go home."

"Home?" Hook chuckles. "You have a castle, mate, what home could possibly-?"

"No!" He flings a hand out, and Hook is encased in blue magic, new magic, stolen magic. "I couldn't get it to work, I got this to work. I am going home!" the Hatter cries.

He sucks in air that's too thin, tries not to hyperventilate when there are a hundred cards with spears waiting for an opportunity to strike. He lets Hook go, and glares at the guards.

"Move," he demands. And they fold down the middle, stepping to attention to let him pass.

Hook trails slowly after him, and he permits it, until they get to the castle courtyard and the pirate speaks.

"You know, I came to this world to get the Queen's heart. But it seems you've taken care of that for me. The portal I came through...it requires two people to get through."

Jefferson's feet stutter to a halt. "What world did you come from?"

"The Enchanted Forest," Hook drawls. "I was commissioned by-"

"Regina..." he breathes. "She has my hat."

And now he has her mother's magic; and he uses it to grab Hook up and drag him along the road as he runs, faster and faster still.

He can't wait to see the Queen again.


	2. State of My Head

In the silence of the dark hall, an enchanted mirror speaks.

"You have visitors, my queen," the glass warns as the hat on the floor starts to twirl.

She stands before the fire, imperious and impatient, waiting for the pirate to present her her mother's corpse. Regina turns to watch the whirlwind.

Purple smoke clears as the top stops spinning, reveals the pirate and a stranger standing side by side. No dead bodies accompany the men.

Indignation is spoiled with drops of fear, and the mix boils in her chest; she has survived too much at her mother's hands not to suspect a trap. The queen stalks forward, and demands to know, "What is this?"

"Your Majesty," Hook greets her, false fidelity sitting bitter in his smile. He steps to the side, and gestures to his companion. "May I present to you, the new King of Wonderland."

The other man bows, folds over a grimy paw print on his patchwork shirt and throws one hand out; the other plucks up the Hat from the ground and holds it over his breast. Uneven tufts of hair fall forward, strange patches, locks cut week by week – the face they now hide was familiar, she thinks.

She keeps the silent stranger in her sights but addresses Hook. "I told you to bring me my mother's heart."

"So you did," Hook drawls. "And so, I have."

He nods at the other man who stands up, smiling. He plucks a thin gold circlet from his short hair, puts the Hat in it's place. Nimble fingers, glowing faintly purple, slip the crown over top. A hatband worthy of a King. Then he turns, grinning, to the queen, excited and waiting.

Regina stifles a gasp. " _Jefferson?_ What are you doing here?"

She left him in Wonderland in place of her father - traded a pawn for a bishop. She expected the knights to take him, off to the Queen and off with his head, yet here stands a king.

"Oh, frabjous day!" he cries. "You don't know how long I've waited to see you, your _highness_!"

Already off to the side, Hook backs up a few more paces. His head is held high, expression empty, but Regina sees his eyes narrow. It is all the warning she has as Jefferson raises his hands. She can feel the magic rising in him.

Purple light flares at his fingertips and invisible links wrap tight around the Queen. She struggles for only a moment - the chain breaks in the face of experience, and she turns the force on its caster. Jefferson slams into the stone floor, writhing, gasping airless breaths.

She holds him still, and approaches warily, leans around the puff of her mourning dress to look down at him.

The Hatter's lips stretch wide, and he snaps his teeth at her, sneers hate and happiness. He wriggles, clothes collecting dust, and laughs breathlessly at the futility.

"What happened to you?" she wonders, concern and disgust crinkling her brows together.

"You left me there," he snarls up at the queen. "In Wonderland. With _her._ "

He wants to lock her up, make her dance for Snow White, drive her mad mad _mad._ And then he wants to tear her heart out crush it, dust it, bury it, burn it!

"...I'm sorry," she says softly, almost sincere, before her voice goes hard and the guilt in her eyes becomes anger, "but she had my father. I had no choice."

"You could have brought someone else!" he screams. His arms crackle with power and her hold breaks; he scrambles to his feet. Magic pulls a candelabra from the table and launches it toward the queen.

Regina bats it away before it gets close. She gathers flames in her palm, her gaze like steel, and lobs the fireball at the Hatter's wide eyes. She has every intention of burning this ambitious pawn down to his stolen title.

There is movement in the corner of her eye, a flash of silver in the dark of the room.

She keeps the Hatter occupied, trading blows that never land, while her Black Knight moves three paces up, one left. But this queen is not as skilled as her mother. Her eyes dart to something over the crown-thief's shoulder and he whirls. Magic explodes from his fingers and knocks the sword from the knight's hand. The Huntsman staggers back into the waiting, watching pirate.

The Queen seethes. She sweeps her arm out and lifts the sword from the stones, sends it spinning toward the Hatter-King.

It cleaves a billowy swatch through a column of smoke, purple with the lingering magic of teleportation.

The room is silent, waiting, ready for movement that never comes.

Finally, the Queen rounds on Hook. "He's never had magic before! Where is my mother's heart?! _What happened?"_

The pirate scratches at his lazily cheek, his namesake glinting in the light of the fire. "About that…"

 **0o0o**

He senses her the moment she returns to the Forest, a nauseating thrill of contempt and old shame. Her magical energy is unmistakable at its core, but edged with the unfamiliar. A poor shield, a suspected trap.

He pulls a dusty sheet from the mirror in his dining hall. The little queen waits for him. He can see in her eyes that she knows what he can feel.

"Rumpelstiltskin-"

"Are you still alive, dearie? Now, that is a surprise. I'd have thought you'd be the first to go!" He giggles, quick and humourless. "Tell me, how did your mother find a portal out of _Wonderland_?"

The World of Nonsense is greedy; many portals lead in, very few let anything out. He rocks where he stands, hands behind his back, his smile brittle.

She doesn't answer. "You remember Jefferson?"

He outlines an invisible hat over his head, eyebrows raised. "Didn't you kill him?" he asks, nebulous regret hidden deep.

"I left him to her, and somehow he survived. Now he's stuck his fingers in something even you wouldn't dare."

This, above all, gets the Dark One's attention.

 **0o0o**

The little house in the woods looks just as he remembers, and though he smells of cat and fire and madness he runs to the door.

It has been so very long, and after years of pretend, he can finally kill his daughter and save Regina.

No, that's not right.

See his daughter. Kill the queen.

The door doesn't open.

"Grace!" he calls, and hammers at the old wood planks.

"Papa?!"

The word comes from his left. The Hatter turns.

A girl leans over the well between houses, bucket forgotten in her grip, her eyes wide with hope. Her hair is lighter than he thought, but he knows who she is.

She drops the pail and he leaps down the hill; they meet halfway, laughing and crying as the Hatter scoops her up and swings her around.

"You came back!" she sobs, burying her head in his shirt.

"I promised," he says. He falls to his knees, and his patched cloth pants soak with mud, but joy brushes away the cold.

He's finally made it home. Now they can share a tea party, and Grace can be queen.

They pull away to find two anxious guardians watching a stranger assault their neighbour's daughter.

The woman approaches, flower basket brought to bear. But Grace is smiling, and her tears are happy, and recognition creeps in.

"...Jefferson? Is that really you?"

He'd always been eccentric, but tidy. Well-groomed on a budget of nothing. Now he looks mad, hodgepodge like the dolls he'd sold.

The Hatter struggles to his feet, clutching tight to his daughter. His smile stretches wide, ear to ear.

"Neighbour! Come, come! You took care of my Grace, we must have tea. Grab your husband, come!"

"Jefferson, we have nothing to have for tea."

"We were just headed to the market, Papa," Grace says.

Jefferson sets Grace gently on the ground. Pale fingers wiggle mischievously at her, backed by a grin and a wink.

"Allow me," he says, and walks. The three follow him around to the back of the small cabin, glances traded between them, curiosity and cheer.

Jefferson rolls his shoulders, the ache of poor sewing out of his neck, and closes his eyes. His arms sweep out, one after the other, and conjure first a long table, then four chairs around one end, and finally, a tea set. Gold plates each piece of the elaborate set.

Three gasps behind him as the pastry stand fills with mini cakes and tarts.

"Jefferson!" the husband exclaims. "Wherever did you find the magic for this?"

"Stole it," the Hatter cackles, pointing to the crown at the brim of his hat, "from a very bad mother."

He grabs Grace by the hand and they bounce over to the new table, claiming chairs next to each other. The remaining two seats are quickly filled, husband and wife facing one another.

"Thank you, Jefferson! This is almost too good to be true," the Missus says. A treat picked out, she gently lifts a small chocolate cake and cradles it close, marveling.

Other treats are readily claimed by the remaining party goers.

"Now, come, tell us," Mister says. "Where have you been, boy?"

The Hatter's smile slips, bitter memories and sweet syrup catching in his throat. Rage at his daughter – no, at _Regina_ – boils in his stomach.

Grace touches his arm and he recoils. Everyone jumps as his elbow jars the table.

"I'm sorry!" Grace cries. "I didn't mean-"

"No, no, it's okay, darling. You want to hear a story? I'll be quick, or you'll be asleep before it's done!"

He shakes his head, adjusts his hat and grins around the table. A sip of tea, and he starts talking. The account of Regina's visit, the deal, the hat, and the maze are told with a flourish of adventure, and his audience is rapt. His own decapitation is skipped, but he happily relates his year of captive hat making, his breakout at the hands of a girl named Alice, and his sneaking into the Queen's chamber.

"So, with her heart, I came galumphing back!"

The sky is dark by the time he finishes, and Grace dozes in her seat.

Mister and Missus share a look, repugnance and dismay. "You murdered a woman? Just like that?"

"Off with her head!" he crows.

"Jefferson, do you think, maybe, after your time in Wonderland…you might be feeling a bit out of sorts? Perhaps you should take some time to recover? Grace can stay with us for as long as you need."

"Whyever would she stay with you?"

A glance to her husband, then the sleeping girl at the table, and Missus finds strength.

"We just think, in light of what you've just told us... Well, do you think Grace might not be safe? With you?"

Cup almost to his lips, the Hatter stills. "Not safe? Where could be safer than with her mother?! I can protect her! I have magic now!"

"We're not saying you can't _protect_ her-!" The voice cuts out as cutlery starts to shake, tea cups rattling in their saucers, plates against forks. The knives all stand on end, handles down. A butter knife nudges out of Grace's hand, joining rank. She startles awake.

Missus tries to stand and makes it halfway to her feet before she is slammed down, held fast to her chair by shimmering violet.

"Jefferson!"

"Papa?"

The Hatter is on his feet, hands on the table, seething. "You just want to turn her against me! You think I can't take care of her? Of _my_ daughter? That I'm 'not safe?!'"

"Yes!" Mister says, eyes on the quivering cutlery, the army of blunt knives.

Magic tightens, squeezing.

"No!" he wheezes.

"Papa, please let them go! Please, no more magic."

"I'll stop using magic when they start being obedient guests! When they admit I only want what's best for you!" the Hatter snaps.

Grace's shaking hands reach for him, and he binds her too. She struggles, wriggling against the hold.

"Papa, let me go!"

Jefferson freezes, chest heaving, horror making the air thin. He sinks into his seat, neck hot to the scar with shame. He hadn't meant to bind her, not Grace.

He raises a hand to release her, but something about the table distracts him, splashes old terror cold and quick through his chest.

"Who stole the tarts?!" he cries, and leaps out of his seat. Missus startles and her chair nearly topples backward.

Trilling laughter sounds from the other end of the table.

A short man sits in a new chair at the far end, green skin glittering with gold. He crosses his feet atop the table next to a dozen tarts stacked precariously.

"What's this? A tea party I wasn't invited to?"

"There's no room for _you_ ," says the Hatter, sinking down onto the chair. "Go away!"

"Oh, there's plenty of room, dearie, once we get that fat head of yours out of the way." He selects a tart and rolls it by the crust between his index fingers. "Tell me, are you feeling it yet? The price your body is paying for the magic you stole?"

Jefferson pulls his hat farther down his head, hides pale cheeks and dark eyes under the brim.

He scowls at the intruder. "What do you know of it?"

The imp sighs. "A lot more than you. What were you thinking using Dark Magick?"

"Dark times call for dark magic."

A blink sees Rumpelstiltskin next to the heart-thief, a handful of shirt in his clawed grip. He pulls the man close.

"You have made a lot of foolish decisions in your life, _boy_ , but this is by far the most stupid," he growls. "Think about what you've done! Imbibing the power of a magic heart is perilous in its own right, but one as rotten and powerful as Cora's requires a certain kind of idiocy. _You_ are too weak to hold her back. You have damned yourself and this whole Forest with you!"

"Pawn takes Queen," Jefferson whispers. A grin splits his face. "Bishop to E1."

The thick rope of scar tissue banding his throat jumps as he swallows.

A muscle in twitches the Dark One's cheek. He waves a hand, and the magic holding Grace and the neighbours dissipates. Missus grabs the girl. Brief hesitation, then the three run for the house.

Jefferson watches them go, gaze blank.

"Stand up," Rumpelstiltskin orders.

"I'd rather finish my tea," the Hatter says.

"That wasn't an offer. You come with me, or you never see your precious girl again. You come _now_ , and I may just save your life."

* * *

 _ **one more chapter  
**_


End file.
